Legendary Beginnings
by Bellantara
Summary: A look at how Shiro might have gotten started. . . .done before the show aired, and quite obviously AU now.
AN: I have quite possibly lost my mind with this. The show is two months away still. But when I saw the first look at Voltron: Legendary Defender, this little plot bunny reared its head. I don't know if Romelle will be in the new show. I hope so, as a long time Sven/Romelle shipper. And I know we don't know anything about how Shiro lost his arm. But. . . . this is how it COULD be. I don't own them, never have.

It would have been easier if they had questioned him. Questioning he could deal with. But they hadn't; all the Galrans had been interested in was torturing the Space Explorer they'd gotten their hands on, beating him near senseless before taking one last bit of revenge. The taking of his right hand above his wrist, already shattered from the failed mission, had been white agony that took his senses until he woke in a dank dungeon cell to the piteous moans of other damned captives. 'And so here we are,' Shirogane Takashi thought grimly, clenching his teeth against the pain of his abused body. Desperate to distract himself, he thought back on what had happened.

The mission had gone tits up almost out of the gate. The "lightly guarded" Galran ship had a full battalion of Deathshead shock troops along for the ride. Shiro's team had died bravely, fighting against impossible odds; Seidou Suizishi had taken a shot meant for Shiro; Seidou's son Yasuo had charged the Drules, mad with grief, and died in his commander's arms not ten minutes later. Shiro himself had taken a shot that shattered his right forearm before he, as commander, had been captured as a prize for Zarkon. His right hand was now displayed in the bastard's throne room as a trophy.

A noise at the door brought him out of his thoughts and he tensed for a fight. He was weak with blood loss and pain, but not helpless, and this could be his last chance to get out alive, if he could just take the guard. . . . To his surprise, there was no guard, just a petite woman with the dusky skin of an Arusian hybrid, dressed in the flowing sheer skirts of Zarkon's harem, who knelt beside him, wiping his bloody and bruised face with a cool cloth before giving him a drink of the best water he'd ever had. "Who . . . who are you?" he croaked. "Why . . . ?"

A slender finger touched his lips, silencing him. "I mean no harm; be silent, or we will both pay with our lives." He nodded his understanding, and the hand moved to begin cleaning his wounds. "I will take care of you, help you regain your strength," she glanced up at him, and he was entranced by her luminous silver gaze. "Rest and save your strength, Space Explorer; we can talk later. I am called Romelle." She washed his wounds carefully, binding the worst of them with strips torn from her skirts, then left him with the jug of water as the last of Galra's feeble daylight faded.

As the groans and cries around him announced another dawn on Galra, Shiro opened his eyes from restless sleep to realize he was in trouble. His skin felt too tight and burned, though he shook with chills. What was left of the swollen stump of his right arm was an agony streaked with red that dripped yellowish pus. 'Blood poisoning and infection,' he thought vaguely. 'You're REALLY in trouble now, Takashi.' He thought wistfully of his parents in Tokyo, his little sister Kikyo, just finished with her miko training in Nagasaki. I'm sorry, I wish I could see you again. I didn't want this to happen. Unbidden, their faces faded from his mind, to be replaced with his team. Specifically, with Seidou and Yasuo Suizishi, his lethal father and son scouts. "You promised," they whispered accusingly. "You gave your word, to find Hiroshi, to tell him of our passing. We believed you to have more honor than to give up and die so easily, Commander!" His resolve to honor his promise flared to stubborn life once more. Grimly he struggled to rise, only to fall back.

Romelle found him on his knees, near weeping from pain and weakness. "What are you doing?" she asked, dropping to her own knees.

"I—I have to get out of here," he murmured feverishly. "I promised. . .Seidou, Yasuo . . .I have to tell him. . ."

Romelle frowned at the delirious words. "Shirogane, stay with me," she said sharply, gently slapping his cheek. Thankfully, the haze receded from his eyes and they focused on her. "Blessed Ancients, you're burning up," she whispered, then swore in her own tongue as she looked at his arm. "Shiro. . . if I can get you to a ship, can you fly out of here? Honest answer, not masculine bravado."

Shiro took a breath, assessing himself. "I think. . . I think I can. I have to try; I will die here otherwise." And he _was_ dying; he was honest enough to admit that to himself.

"Wait here." Romelle vanished from the room, coming back with a massive four-armed insectoid alien. "Manset will help us. . .and the easiest way to get you out of here is if you are dead and being carried to the Pit of Skulls." She waited until Shiro nodded his understanding, then spoke to Manset quietly. He carefully scooped Shiro up, gently as though the Space Explorer were a day old whiffer hatchling, and headed for the door, grunting in approval as Shiro went limp and sprawling in his arms.

Silently Romelle guided them through the dungeons; as she had predicted, none of the guards gave a second look to two slaves with a dead body. Manset held Shiro so that his right arm, a sure giveaway, was hidden. Soon they were crouched outside the hangar bay, where Shiro was sure his injuries were making him hallucinate. " _Kuso!_ A Fractal . . . here? How? Why?"

"It was captured some time ago; Zarkon thought to use it to infiltrate the Alliance, but he has been unable to defeat the security systems." Romelle gave him a measuring look. "I would assume that a Space Explorer would know the keys?"

" _Hai_ , I do," Shiro answered. "Just get me there, and I will get us out of here."

Romelle shook her head slowly. "We must stay, Manset and I. We are needed here. We are leaders among the slaves, and we are gathering much intelligence for the Alliance." She took Shiro's hand and pressed a data chip into it. "These are Zarkon's current battle plans; please, make sure they get to where they can be of use."

Shiro was still trying to process Romelle _staying._ He had come to care for the quiet woman in their few days together, and his honor was balking at leaving her behind. "Do not worry, small warrior," Manset rumbled, his words barely intelligible. "Manset guards, Manset protects." All Shiro could do was nod in acknowledgment.

"I will. . . come back. . . for you," Shiro promised Romelle, looking into her beautiful eyes. "I do. . . not know when. But I WILL. I swear it."

Tears were welling up in those eyes. "I know. I'll be waiting." She stepped forward and kissed him quickly. "Ancients bless and protect you, Shirogane Takashi. Put him on the ship, Manset. Quickly, it is near shift change!" Manset moved faster than Shiro would have believed him capable; two minutes later they were at the Fractal's hatch; two minutes after THAT, the alien was helping him strap into the pilot's seat, one hand lingering on Shiro's shoulder in farewell before Manset vanished from the cockpit.

Shiro took a deep breath, forcing down the delirium and weakness that threatened to overwhelm him, and began bringing the Fractal's systems up as fast as he could one-handed. Navigation, stealth, and autopilot—he needed all the help he could get. Once the ship was airborne and streaking silently for space, he brought up the Alliance distress beacon, praying for rescue before his strength gave out.

For the first time in what felt like centuries, luck was with him. An Alliance cruiser found him just outside the Galran system; twenty minutes later, he'd passed on Romelle's intelligence and was tucked up in MedTech, left arm hosting an IV full of painkillers and every antibiotic the doctor had on hand. He was vaguely aware that surgery was being discussed, to clean up the stump of his arm and lay the groundwork for a cybernetic prosthesis, but he no longer had the strength to care. Finally safe, he let the drugs work their magic and carry him to a peaceful oblivion where he dreamed of soft, dark skin and beautiful eyes.


End file.
